


Up Under Desert Lights

by ag_sasami



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, summer fic exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ag_sasami/pseuds/ag_sasami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s desert heat and Charles’ stubbornness, and Erik is <i>one</i> setback from losing his finely honed control. For the prompt:<i> A road trip story set during Charles and Erik's recruitment.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Under Desert Lights

Somewhere outside of New Mexico Charles falls asleep on his shoulder across the center console. The air conditioner broke two days ago, which had been fine until they really hit the desert. But the heat has become oppressive and it was obvious 50 miles back that Charles was faring badly under the sun. This is the moment Erik begins coming undone: a wall of dust behind them, Charles’ hair curling with the sweat on his brow, and his breath damp against the cotton of Erik’s shirt. He lets the car run entirely on its own power for the 100 miles that Charles sleeps against him.

They don’t arrive until well after the moon has started a slow climb over the horizon

\---

Cerebro is not the most accurate of Hank’s inventions. Coordinates are only rough estimates of the location of a mutant Charles has touched. Much of their trip is spent discovering the mutant they were attempting to find was in transit when Cerebro found them, or that their coordinates were too far off the mark to track them down. The result is a trip marked by fruitless travel for days on end, often with weeks between successful contact. This leg of the trip is no different.

Their coordinates leave them in the middle of the desert miles from towns in any direction. Erik brings the car to a stop along the side of the road and kills the engine.

“Well, this has been useful yet again.”

“Come now, Erik. Are you giving up already?”

“No, Charles, of course not.” He doesn’t make the effort to keep the caustic tone from his reply.

They drive on, southwest, to Charles’ best guess where they’ll find their mark. He says he remembers the shape of her mind, the way it was sharp against his own.

\---

They stop so Charles can stretch his legs. With the air conditioner shot and miles of desert still on all sides Erik wants to resent the delay. He wants to resent this delicacy, this fidgety need to escape the heat and the confines of the car, as unnecessary. But Charles is unbuttoning his collar down and down and down, exposing the pale length of his throat. His hands shake as he starts rolling his sleeves and all Erik’s resentment burns off in the heat of the sun and the flush creeping down Charles’ chest.

“The heat doesn’t agree with me, I’m afraid,” Charles says by way of explanation, sheepish. Erik is leaning his forearms against the roof of the car, crossed, looking unimpressed behind his sunglasses.

“Are you back to reading me then?”

“Heavens no. It’s only that your exasperation is rather loud.” The smile is pasted on, doesn’t climb any higher than his mouth. “Well let’s move on, shall we?”His eyes are downturned as he slides back into the sticky leather seat.

The car won’t start.

“Perfect.”

“I’m sure we can find someone who can fix it.”

“And where exactly do you think we’ll find them out here? I’ll just drive it.”

“A car that doesn’t run, Erik? How will we explain that?”

“There hasn’t been another person on this road in 3 hours, and who would even know? Fifty miles an hour in the opposite direction and you think they are going to notice that the engine isn’t turning over? Don’t be ridiculous, Charles!”

“We _cannot_ take that risk, ridiculous or otherwise. The next town isn’t terribly far.” Before Erik can say anything else, before he can get another _logical_ argument out, Charles is walking. Erik’s shoulders are knotting tense with the suppressed urge to scream. He reaches out to all the overlooked bits of metal in the pants and shoes Charles is wearing and begins to tug at them just enough to register attention. In return Erik gets a hard look thrown from over a shoulder, and Charles keeps walking despite the strain.

“This is absurd,” he growls, loud enough for Charles to hear it, but he follows anyway.

\---

It’s well over 100 degrees, the sun is beating down, and there hasn’t been any reprieve from the heat since they started walking. Erik guesses they’ve been slogging through sand at the side of the road for well over two hours, against _both_ of their better judgments. Ahead of him Charles is stumbling with greater frequency, and their pace has slowed considerably. _It is asinine_ , he thinks, that they are out in the sun like this overexerting themselves when he could have driven them this far in a fraction of the time spent on this death march. Behind them a storm has been rolling in and the smell of rain is brushing past, heavy in the dry breeze.

They crest a dune then, a small one, just as Erik is resolved to drag their driverless car to meet them on a road. In the distance, and not terribly far away all things considered, a town rises up out of the mirage heat of the desert floor. From here it looks rickety and underpopulated, a ghost town maybe; a safe haven, perhaps, as the storm bears down on them.

Charles, of course, is thrilled. The sky goes black as rain heavy clouds roll over the sun. There is no gentle warning drizzle, just the instant downpour of a desert storm. But it is like a second wind, invigorating, and Charles clasps Erik’s hand in his own and drags him along down the dune. He runs laughing, clothes stuck to him like skin. Erik gasps at the exertion, not unlike the first breath of air instead of seawater. Watching Charles delight in the cooling air and the water flooding sand around their ankles, his throat is tight with a grudging affection he can’t quite own.

They clear more ground in the 20 minutes of rain than they have since they started this foolish foot trip, and shelter is closer than it looked. Charles pulls them under the cover of an ancient bus stop—some cross country thing that makes a stop once every three days, always 14 minutes early or 58 minutes late. He is breathless, pleasure lapping like waves against Erik’s mind, unintentionally invasive. His hair is heavy with the rain and dripping over the bridge of his nose, and he’s bent over panting, hands braced on his sopping knees. But he peers up at Erik through soggy curls and eyelashes stuck together and smiles, blinding. Impulsive and oh so beautifully reckless, he reaches up to brush the hair from Erik’s forehead with both hands. Erik catches his wrists slightly raised beside his head and crowds him up against the wall as the rain drips through the leaking roof around them.

He smells like desert rain, earthy and fresh, and his eyes are wide, unblinking as Erik invades his space. He watches the bob of Charles’ throat as he swallows dryly and licks his upper lip. It could be a nervous twitch, the way his tongue darts out across his mouth, but everything about it looks enticingly filthy. Erik leans in close, breath hot just above the shell of Charles’ ear.

“You should have let me drive.” The anger is bleeding out of him and he can’t tell—can never tell anymore—if the anger is actually gone or if Charles has pushed it away. It might be the same things, and that’s something of a horror if he thinks about it too long. He doesn’t, can’t, because Charles is chuckling and turns his head just so, until every syllable is brushing up against Erik’s skin.

The sound is low, a little breathy still, and it’s dangerous the way he says, “What, and miss _this_?” And the shift of his hips must be calculated because Erik falls against him, now pinning Charles back with the full length of his body.

“So you won’t risk my moving a bit of broken metal, but this is an acceptable hazard?” The hot flare of anger is there again, sparking beneath the _other_ heat pooling at the base of his spine. But he sinks into whatever Charles has just invited, until their noses brush and they must be sharing the same recycled breath.

The corners of his mouth tuck up in a smile that’s just this side of cocky, and Erik watches it play across his face from the awkward distance. Charles leans in and presses the words against Erik’s mouth as he asks, “Isn’t it?”


End file.
